He found himself telling her about the highlights of his trip: the new flower he’d found, the amazing colours of the rainforest, the plethora of bugs that had occupied his campsites. He’d not meant to get carried away; he knew what most people thought of his scholarly pursuit. It was time to change for supper before he realised how much he’d told her, the drawing room starting to empty as ladies drifted off to exchange carriage ensembles for evening gowns. The whole time, her eyes had been fixed on his in rapt attention, not the usual polite attention he was used to, and he’d simply kept talking, saying anything that came to mind to keep that gaze on him.
His mother moved towards them, a young man and woman in tow, clearly a brother and a sister from the genetic similarities stamped on their features. ‘Finley, this is Lady Eliza Dewhurst and her brother, Lord Richard. They’ve only just arrived. They were delayed a little by snow on the roads. I am hoping you will be so kind as to take Eliza in to dinner later.’
Finn would have groaned if he could. His mother had made no secret of her high hopes for Lady Eliza, the daughter of a marquess. Certainly she was pretty enough in a blonde, pink-cheeked way common to many pretty English girls. But beyond that, he could tell already she simply wasn’t his sort.
Lord Richard bowed to Catherine. ‘Miss Emerson? If you would do me the honour this evening?’
Catherine gave him a small curtsy, the sort due to a marquess’s younger son. ‘It would be my pleasure.’ She said the words as if it really would be. And maybe it would, Finn thought. At least the young man wouldn’t spend the evening talking about bugs and plants. Finn focused his attention on Lady Eliza, but he was only partially successful in his efforts. His critical mind wasn’t ready to leave the topic of his reaction to Catherine Emerson’s return. His response was most unexpected and surprising. It was three days until Christmas. It made him wonder what else the festivity had in store.
Chapter Two
It was always the same. Whatever the festivity had in store for him, change didn’t seem to be a part of it, Finn concluded after dinner. Counting this year, he had twelve years of adult memories as evidentiary proof to support the claim. He surveyed the post-dinner scene from his place at the drawing-room mantel beside his father; all the usual company were assembled in all their usual spaces on sofas and chairs around the room. Mrs Moffat, the vicar’s wife, had sat on the cream sofa for at least a decade that he knew of, and probably longer. Old Mrs Anderson always sat next to Mrs. Moffat and old Mrs Anderson had always been old. Finn couldn’t recall her ever having been young.
There would be cards and the young ladies would take turns at the pianoforte, playing quiet carols as background music to the evening. Then there would be his mother’s special spiced cider and gingerbread to go to bed on. There was comfort in the knowledge that it would always be this way, but there was dissatisfaction too. Nothing changed and it made him restless.
Oh, certainly there were some variations on the theme. This year it was Lady Eliza his mother was foisting on him. Every year, a different girl, but it was still the same ‘foisting ritual’, as he’d come to think of it. It would be that way until he settled for one of them.
‘What did you think of Lady Eliza?’ his father asked quietly, correctly guessing the direction of his thoughts, if not their timbre. ‘I think she was quite taken with you at dinner.’
‘Or my consequence,’ Finn replied drily.
His father shrugged. ‘She’s the daughter of a marquess, Finn. I doubt she thought twice about it. Consequence is her due. If anything...’ he chuckled ‘...we’re a come down for her, being only lowly earls.’ But it was a jest only. Everyone knew what a fine catch the Deverills were; the title was old and the coffers were deep.
His father sobered a bit, his voice low. ‘I know you’re restless, Finn. You’re at that age. Every man in this room over thirty-five has been through it. You’re twenty-eight now; you’ve reached a point in life where you have to work out if you’re restless for something, or someone.’ His father’s eyes strayed to where his mother stood chatting with guests. ‘For me it was someone.’
Finn knew his father spoke the truth. After thirty years of marriage, four children and the chaos of a full home, his father had not once looked at another woman. Growing up, love and fidelity had never been in doubt in their household. Finn did not think he could find that devotion with Lady Eliza.